


Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

by enc0432



Series: Band of Gallavich [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enc0432/pseuds/enc0432
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oops the boys are in Kansas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carry On My Wayward Son

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is going to be multichapter but how many I'm not sure yet. References Wrap Me Up In a Bolt of Lightning.

_Carry on my wayward son_  
 _There'll be peace when you are done_  
 _Lay your weary head to rest_  
 _Don't you cry no mor_ e \- Carry on My Wayward Son, Kansas

Late July, 1950. The middle of fucking nowhere, Kansas. 

Mickey bent over the truck’s engine, sweat dripping into his eyes. Fucking Gallagher was leaning against the door, smoking while Mickey tried to figure out what he’d done to the truck. 

“Told you this hunk of junk would break down.” 

Mickey wiped his brow. “Hey my baby’s done us pretty fucking good so far. Don’t blame her for your shitty driving.” 

“Your baby?” Mickey glared at him, and Ian raised his hands in surrender. “Alright alright! There must be a farm or something up ahead. Maybe they got a phone. I’ll go.” 

“If you think I’m letting you walk around in the middle of fucking nowhere on your own you’re dumber than you look. She just needs to cool off.” 

He slammed the hood shut and wiped more sweat off. He gave up after that peeled his undershirt off, wiping his greasy hands on it. It was completely soaked through. _Fuck Kansas._ He didn’t miss the appreciative glance he got from Ian. The ginger’s face quickly flashed back to irritation though. 

“I’m a grown man Mickey you don’t _have_ to follow me around everywhere.” 

“Fine go get yourself murdered by some psycho 4F! See if I care!” 

Ian stormed off, limping only a little bit. Mickey growled and looked around for the cigarettes before he realized Ian had taken the pack and the lighter with him. He cursed long and loud even when Ian was long gone from his sight. They weren’t even a month into this fiasco and they were already at each other’s throats. Though Mickey knew that had more to do with the last phone call they’d had with Fiona than anything else. The country was back at war. Carl had dropped out of school and was already on his way to basic. If that weren’t bad enough, there was a strong chance Mickey and Lip could get pulled back into the Army and shipped off to Korea. The thought made Mickey squirm, and made Ian temperamental. Truth was Mickey was terrified. He’d barely survived round one, and Ian wouldn’t be there this time to keep him from snapping. At least Lip had three years of combat and a Purple Heart to keep him home. 

Mickey climbed into the truck, resting his head on the steering wheel. The scar on his chest itched, the echo of the third-worst day of his life. More sweat dripped down his spine and he snapped. He slammed his hands on the steering wheel over and over, releasing his pent-up frustration and rage. But the muggy heat was heavy and he was soon spent. He sent a silent apology to his truck and leaned back, closing his eyes. Ian’s absence was starting to make him itch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch; he hadn’t wanted to lose it. Mickey held the face in his palm, running his thumb over the inscription. He slipped it back on with a sigh. 

Half an hour passed. Then a full one. Mickey tried the engine again but it sputtered and went dead again. He started to fidget. Got out and paced along the side of the road. _Christ I could use a smoke right now._ Right when he had decided to go after Ian a truck appeared, the redhead standing up in the back of it like a fucking moron. Mickey was relieved though, even when the truck pulled over and a farmer and his dog came bouncing out. The dog immediately shoved its nose in Mickey’s crotch and he knelt to scratch it absent-mindedly, eyes focused on Ian. The ginger tilted his head and Mickey knew they were good again. For now anyways. The dog licked his face and wagged its tail and Mickey only then looked at the farmer. The man was maybe fifty, blue eyes and straw-colored hair. His skin looked like someone had left him outside for the last fifty years, which Mickey realized wasn’t far off from the truth. The man held out his hand. 

“Ron Daly son. That’s Shep.” 

Mickey took it reluctantly. “Mickey Milkovich.” 

“A pleasure. Your friend here says you’re on your way out to California.” 

“Yeah.” 

His eyes flicked over Mickey’s scars. The biggest being the scar on his chest, but with the childhood he’d had it was far from the only one. Self-consciously he turned his back to grab his shirt out of the truck, filthy as it was at this point. He didn’t want Daly seeing his back which was even worse off than his chest. Daly didn’t seem to mind, he went about poking at Mickey’s truck, way to familiar with her. Mickey folded his arms and leaned against the door as Ian went stick his head under the hood as well. 

“So where are you kids from?” 

Ian piped up. “Chicago.” 

“Really? California is a long way from home.” 

“Well so is Kansas.” Mickey rolled his eyes as Ian went on. “We just wanted out for a while.” 

Daly snorted. Mickey kept glancing over to see what the man was up to, turning his head every time the farmer looked directly at him. 

“You two aren’t running from something are you? Like the war.” 

Mickey opened his mouth to say something but Ian beat him to it. “No sir. If we get called back, we’ll go.” 

_Smooth Ian. Leave it to you tell this asshole our whole life story._  

“Called back?” 

“We served in the 101st during the last one. How we met actually.” 

“Good on ye boys.” Daly straightened. “Well the good news is some water in the radiator will do her just fine. The bad news is I can’t let two veterans go on their way without supper and a bed for the night. You guys on a schedule?” 

Mickey wanted to say yes, they were on a fucking schedule. But he and Ian hadn’t had a bed in a week and they didn’t have the cash to miss a free meal. That, and Ian was giving him the damn puppy dog eyes and even Shep was tilting her head, looking at Mickey expectantly. He threw his hands up in agitation and she barked. 

“We’ll see.” 

He sounded like an asshole without meaning to. But Daly didn’t look offended, just going to get the water out of the truck. 

“All three of our boys served.” 

Daly unscrewed the cap and poured it in the radiator. Ian was hanging on Daly’s his every word. 

“I did too. Back in the last one. Took a Kraut shell in my ass.” 

Even Mickey laughed at that. Ian grinned. 

“Yeah kind of an Easy Company tradition. Able too come to think of it. Mick knows he was our medic. Hell I wouldn’t be standing here without him.” 

Mickey hated it when he said that. Like he’d had a fucking choice. Daly whistled. 

“That’s a hard job.” He straightened. “Well that oughta do it. Go on and start her up.” 

He did and the truck came right back to life. Mickey grinned before he could stop himself. Daly lowered the hood, looking pleased. 

“So what do you say boys? Mrs. Daly can’t cook worth a damn, God bless her heart, but she makes a lot of it.” 

“Only if you let us help you out Mr. Daly.” 

Daly snorted. “Call me Ron Ian. And have either of you two city boys even seen a farm before?” 

“Sure. We’ve _seen_ plenty. We like to wave at them as we drive by.” Ian grinned. 

“Tell you what, I’ll think about it after supper. Shep ride with the boys, make sure they follow me.” 

The damned dog proceeded to hop in Mickey’s truck like she owned it. So did Ian. He stared at the two of them, mouth slightly agape, and gave up. He would have thought he’d be used to the bizarre roads Ian led him down by now. He was wrong. He climbed in and started the engine, looking sternly at Shep. 

“You slobber allover my car and _you’re_ supper ya mangy mutt.” 

Ian scratched under her chin. “Ignore him pretty girl you slobber wherever you want.” 

Shep barked and Mickey put them into gear. They were off at last, with a lurch and the crunch of the tires. 

~~

When they pulled into the farm it was only three, but Ian was exhausted. They had only made up their minds about California the week before. The way Ian saw it, if they were going to make a cross-country road-trip than they should go big or go home. Though mostly, he wanted to spend as much time with Mickey before what he felt was an inevitable separation. Maybe they were being punished for their sins, or maybe he was a selfish asshole and Mickey getting sent back to Korea had nothing to do with either of them. It didn’t matter though. He just felt like he was counting a numbered set of days, and it made him angry. He seriously doubted they’d make it as far as California before he got the call from Mandy that Mickey had to hop on the first train back. 

They exited the truck and Mickey eyed the farm suspiciously. It took a lot of willpower not to kiss the furrow in his brow away. Shep ran off, chasing some chickens. Ian had no idea what kind of dog the white, black, brown, and gray-spotted dog was. He liked her though. He stretched and Mickey patted his back before walking closer to the house. He looked good, sweaty and covered in engine grease. Ian wondered briefly if they would get a shower. He really wouldn’t mind staying a couple of days if they could help out Ron in the process. He wasn’t used to that level of helpfulness from a stranger, but he didn’t get the feeling in his gut he usually did when someone was screwing him over. That, and Mickey was there. That alone was enough to make Ian feel safe. 

Ron looked them both over. “You boys have anything clean to wear to dinner?” 

They both looked down, exchanging a glance. Ian felt his mouth quirk up. 

“Afraid not Ron.” 

“Well maybe if you ask politely, Mrs. Daly would throw yours in with ours. Honey! We’ve got company!” 

He opened the door and went inside before Ian or Mickey could protest. Mickey shook his head. 

“The shit you get us into.” 

Ian threw his arm around Mickey. “Hey Mick how do I smell?” 

“Like shit Gallagher get off of me.” 

He pulled Mickey into a headlock instead. They were still scuffling when Ron and his wife appeared. Ian released Mickey hastily. 

“Pleasure to meet you ma’am. I’m Ian. That’s Mickey.” 

She smiled, as warm as her husband had been with them. _I think even if they murder us they are going to be very nice about it._   She did look them over in a manner not unlike Captain Harris had back at training. 

“We’ve got some extra clothes that might fit you boys. My sons leave a lot of stuff behind when they’re here. Come on in. I can show you where to wash-up.” 

They walked in and Ian immediately felt every speck of dirt on his skin. Mickey was as stunned as he was. The house was spotless. Then Ian was in for another shock. 

“Your home is nice Mrs. Daly.” 

Ian gaped at Mickey who avoided his eyes, and whether he was blushing or sunburned Ian was never entirely sure in the days to come. Mrs. Daly just waved her hand dismissively. 

“Thank you sweetheart.” 

Mickey rubbed the back of his neck. It made Ian ache to see him so sheepish. Couldn’t take a compliment to save his life. Mrs. Daly led them upstairs, showing them the washroom and the spare bedroom. 

“Figure you two have had worse than sharing the same bedroom.” 

Ian could not look Mickey in the eye. He couldn’t do it. Then he did it and Mickey was definitely redder than he had been before. 

“We’ll be just fine. You and your husband have already done too much.” He managed to get the words out with a steady voice, but just barely. 

“Nonsense. You two get cleaned up, they’re are clothes in the dresser. Dinner is at six.” 

She pinched Ian’s face and then walked out. He and Mickey could only stare at each other. Then Ian shut the door and pulled Mickey to him, kissing him thoroughly before pulling back. 

“Dibs on the first bath.” 

Mickey growled and just crushed their lips together again. Ian barely had the presence of mind not to throw him in the bed then and there. It was Mickey who pushed him off though. 

“Come on Gallagher. I’d rather not get lynched with or without you.” 

Ian grunted and went through the drawers of the dresser with Mickey. “Hey sorry about earlier.” 

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for. Just don’t go storming off again.” 

“What were you worried about me or something Mick?” 

Mickey smacked the back of his head with a blue shirt. Ian tilted his head. 

“Are you dressing me now?” 

“Just wear it wise ass. You look good in blue.” 

Ian grinned and peeled off the grimy shirt he had on. Mickey looked him over and Ian stood straighter, flexing his stomach. 

“Jesus Ian go bathe already.” 

He threw a pair of slacks at Ian as he made his way to the door. He was starting to like Kansas.  


	2. Not With Haste

 

_Your eyes they tie me down so hard_

_I'll never learn to put up a guard_

_So keep my love, my candle bright_

_Learn me hard, oh learn me right_

_This ain't no sham_

_I am what I am_   _-_ Not With Haste, Mumford and Sons

 Daly Farmstead, Kansas. July, 1950

While Mickey was bathing, Ian headed downstairs. Mrs. Daly had started supper, singing merrily. She was so motherly it hurt. 

“Mrs. Daly? I hate to ask but do you have a phone I could use?” 

“Checking in with your folks? Go right on ahead. It’s in my husband’s office, across the hall.” 

Ian didn’t want to touch his family history with a ten-foot pole, so he thanked her and went to call Fiona. He was tense before his sister answered. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey Fiona.” 

The relief in her voice was palpable. “Oh Ian it’s good to hear from you.” 

“You too Fi. Guess where we are?” 

“Bourbon Street.” 

Ian grinned. “No that’s on the way back if I can convince Mick. We’re at the Daly Farm in Kansas.” 

“Do I want to know how you ended up out there?” 

“Maybe not. We’re staying the night at least. Any word from Carl?” 

Fiona sighed. “No. We pick Mandy and Lip up tomorrow though.” 

“How’re you holding up?” 

“I’m holding. I’m glad Mickey is looking out for you but you’re a long way from home.” 

His heart clenched at that. Guilt wracked him. He had abandoned his family once before for the Army. Now he’d done it again. 

“I promised we’d come back Fi. I intend to keep it.” 

“I know Ian. Love you.” 

He sighed. “Love you too.” 

He hung up and found Mickey watching intently from the doorway. He raised his eyebrows and Ian shook his head. He closed the distance between them and Mickey clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Hey man no news is good news at this point, right?” 

“I guess. Lip and Mandy come home tomorrow.” 

Mickey nodded. “Good maybe your fool brother can go grab the other one.” 

“You gonna call Iggy?” 

“Nah he’s probably at the shop. Or foolin’ around with what’s her face.” 

Ian rolled his eyes. “They’re engaged you gotta remember her name.” 

“Says who?” 

Ian shook his head and pushed Mickey out of the office. “Come on let’s see if we can help out with dinner.” 

“Yeah yeah. Keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Make me.” 

Mickey grinned but didn’t reply as they entered the kitchen again. Mrs. Daly smiled at both of them. 

“You two clean up nice.” 

Ian smiled back. “Can we do anything ma’am?” 

“You sure can. How about chopping onions Ian?” 

“My favorite thing in the whole world.” He winked and she chuckled, handing him the knife and onions. 

“How do you feel about chopping spuds Mickey?” 

The brunette chewed his lip but stepped up. “I like em’ a lot better than onions ma’am.” 

Ian had never known Mickey to be so polite in the eight years he had known him. He wondered if that was how he had been before his mom had died. Once again, he found himself hating Mickey’s dad. _Bastard sure did a number on him._ He set to work, ignoring Mickey and his damn eyebrows when he started crying from the onions. They chatted about nothing in particular with Mrs. Daly and worked away the afternoon. It was nice. Ian’s homesickness kicked up though, remembering similar days with Fiona and Lip after their own mother had bailed on them. 

“Ian honey do your hands always shake like that?” 

He snapped back to the present, he hadn’t realized his hand had been shaking as he set the table. He hastily tried to set the fork he’d been holding down in a relatively straight position. Ian shook the appendage, embarrassed. Mrs. Daly only went on, eyes full of understanding. 

“Same thing happened to our oldest. Shell-shock you know.” 

Mickey came over and finished up the table for Ian. “Where are they now?” 

“Well the oldest, Dennis, is a lawyer out in Kansas City now. Doug is in-town with the hired hands until Friday. Danny…well.” 

And then they knew. Danny hadn’t come home. Mickey and Ian were both stricken but Mrs. Daly only smiled sadly. 

“Oh don’t you boys feel bad. You couldn’t have known.”  

Mickey awkwardly put his hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Daly sniffed but clasped it in her own, and Ian thought he saw tears in Mickey’s eyes as well. He was thankful when Ron came in, the door thumping behind him and Shep. 

“Well the corral is all set up. All we’re waiting on now is Doug.” 

Mrs. Daly and Mickey exchanged a look and she went back to getting the food ready. “Go wash up then we’ll eat dear.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Shep came trotting into the kitchen and made a bee-line for Mickey. She licked his hand and he bent, scratching behind both ears and ruffling her fur up. Even when he caught Ian watching he didn’t stop. 

“Shep leave him alone.” 

She didn’t, following Mickey around as he went to the sink and washed his hands. As he toweled them off he finally glanced at Ian. 

“Keep your mouth shut.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

Mickey exhaled sharply and went to the table. Ian joined him, knocking their knees together under the table. Mickey jostled his back. He had the feeling something was bothering the brunette, but knew better than to ask then. Just when Ian thought he was going to have to take a bite out of Mickey, his stomach growling loudly, Ron came back downstairs. They said grace and ate companionably. The food wasn’t _bad_ , and Ian wouldn’t have cared by then if it had been. He’d definitely had worse. He caught Mickey sneaking scraps to the dog. Ron went on about how his flock was doing, which was how they learned he was a sheep farmer. And that he was short-handed for the shearing. 

“Goddamn Howard and Bobby have both bailed on me.” 

“Language Ron.” 

“And the Cox’s boy is shipping out.” 

Ian wiped his mouth, wondering how hard it could be to shear sheep. Which was about the same time Mrs. Daly chimed in. 

“Well why don’t you take on Mickey and Ian? I’m sure they could use the money. You just gotta show them how.” 

Ron looked them over, his sharp blue eyes twinkling. “You boys think you can stomach sticking around for a few days?” 

Ian exchanged a look with Mickey, who to his surprise nodded. “Like you said, we could use the money.” 

“Yeah just show us what to do Ron.” 

Which was how they became hired hands on a sheep farm. Ian was rather happy about it, liking it when they stayed up with Ron even after dinner, talking about the war. He told them stories of his own boys, especially Danny. Ian liked that Ron and Mrs. Daly talked about their youngest. Not like he was still alive, but stories about him. Mickey was withdrawn the whole time, eyes distant even when Ron made them laugh. Eventually they retreated to their borrowed bed. 

~~

Mickey couldn’t sleep. Danny Daly’s ghost was keeping him up. He disentangled himself from Ian, stroking his hair out of reflex to soothe him when the ginger moved restlessly. Mickey thought his heart might burst, looking at Ian in the moonlight. He smiled briefly and grabbed the smokes and lighter off the nightstand, going to the windowsill. He opened it and watched the peaceful night, the flat farm silver and black under the full moon. It reminded him all too well of France and Germany. He leaned his head against the wall, trying not to think about it. He hadn’t known it was the same Danny until he saw the picture downstairs. Mickey tapped out his ash, stomach tight with discomfort. 

He didn’t know how to tell Ian, or the Daly’s, that he had been the one to hold Danny while he died. The boy had been one of the very few who hadn’t been crying out for his mother. He had been shot four times in the stomach, and hadn’t screamed or anything. Mickey had realized the boy was paralyzed the few seconds before he’d bled out. All he’d asked was for Mickey to hold his hand. He wasn’t part of their regiment, but Mickey had been impressed with him all the same. He sighed, watching the fireflies occasionally flicker across the fields. Ian stirred and sat up. 

“You alright Mick?” 

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.” 

He didn’t look at Ian, who ignored him and sat down in front of the windowsill. Mickey ran his hand through Ian’s hair absently, feeling Ian lay his head back so it was on Mickey’s lap. Mickey usually only stroke Ian’s hair when he was asleep or after he’d had a nightmare. But now, it was a comfort to him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted Ian awake. Christ he was head over heels. 

“Can we talk about if you have to go back?” 

Mickey tapped the cigarette with his freehand. “What’s there to talk about?” 

“I don’t know. Just feel like we should talk about it.” 

He rolled his eyes. Ian tried again. 

“I just…I don’t want you to go.” 

That twisted something sharp in Mickey’s chest. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stilled his hand for a moment and looked down at the ginger. 

“If you tell me not to go…I won’t.” 

Ian tilted his head further back. “And do what?” 

“Fuck if I know man. Shoot myself in the foot or something.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that Mick.” 

Mickey exhaled. “Then all I can do is promise you if I go I’ll come back. I love you right? So I gotta come back. Simple as that.” 

Ian gaped at him. “Ya do?” 

Mickey smacked him lightly on the head. The ginger chuckled and sat up, tangling a hand in Mickey’s undershirt.

“C’mere.” 

It was slightly awkward but Mickey maneuvered himself so he could kiss Ian. It was slow and sweet, and he had to admit he liked being above Ian for a change. 

~~

Mickey insisted on helping Mrs. Daly with the wash the next day. Ian wanted to ask him what was wrong, but didn’t want to insult him either. He didn’t really think complaining about Mickey being helpful would be a good idea. So after breakfast they went their separate ways for the morning, Ron assigning Ian to repairing holes in the back fence. That he could manage. Ron drove him out, leaving him with Shep, and Ian worked from dawn to noon with the sheepdog as company. It was a nice change of pace even as the sun rose and he sweated through another shirt. He and Mickey had been cooped up in the truck through Missouri and half of Kansas the last few weeks. He chatted with Shep who would occasionally bark or yelp back. He peeled off his shirt and stuck a couple of nails between his teeth, talking around them. 

“Yeah we were in this Texaco and this guy immediately didn’t want to serve a couple of ‘faggot yankees.” Shep barked and Ian pointed the hammer at her. “That’s what I thought. So Mickey drags him across the counter, pulls out a switchblade, and tells him he ‘can take his faggot, yankee money or get a few new orifices carved in his face.’ You know that man never fired a single shot in the war? I’m sorta afraid if he had he woulda taken out the Krauts single-handedly.” 

Shep barked again and Ian grinned around the nails. “Anyways we’re headed back out and whaddya know? This crazy bastard comes chasing after us with a shotgun. I don’t think I’ve run so fast in my life and that’s with a bum leg. The blast almost took off my ear. You couldn’t pay me to go back to Missouri.” 

Shep whined and then ran off. Ian turned to see Mickey coming down the hill with a basket. He too was shirtless and Ian was having a hard time not staring. Then he realized it was him and Shep out here so he stared at Mickey anyways. She jumped on him, bouncing around him and barking excitedly and Mickey raced her down the hill. Ian was laughing and Mickey dropped the basket to tackle him. Shep just hopped around them as they wrestled. Eventually, Ian pinned Mickey in the grass. Mickey was panting heavily but he grinned. 

“Hey Gallagher does it bother you that you and that damned dog have the same personality?” 

Ian wriggled his hips against Mickey who wiggled his eyebrows. “Does it bother you that that’s the reason you like ‘that damned dog?’” 

He got off Mickey and helped him to his feet, the heat making him way to lazy to do anything besides give the man a quick peck on the lips. He stood, pulling Mickey up with him. Shep sat next to the basket, cocking her head and wagging her tail. Mickey shoved him and rescued the basket. 

“We having a picnic Mick?” 

“No _I’m_ having a picnic. Your dumb ass can watch.” 

Ian laughed and they both hopped up on the fence together. Mickey handed him a pop of all things and a sandwich. 

“Gonna be the best damned sandwich of your life. I made it.” 

Ian sipped from his bottle before replying. “Ah that explains the smell.” 

Mickey ignored him and tossed his crusts to Shep. “You should go get in the shade. Dumb dog.” 

“She likes your surly ass. Thank you for lunch Mickey. Not your best salami though.” 

“I ain’t surly you prick.” Mickey spoke around his food. “They’re herding the sheep into the corral now. They got some real herding dogs with em’ too.” 

He spoke pointedly at Shep who just put a paw on the fence to beg for more food. Mickey rolled his eyes and tossed the rest to her, pulling out another one from the basket. 

“Thought the hands were all in town?” 

Mickey shrugged. “They were. Went in on fucking horseback. Ron said to help you finish the fence and head back before dinner. We’re having it with everyone tonight.” 

Ian finished his food and drained the pop. “I like it out here.” 

“Yeah you couldn’t get anymore Irish if ya tried.” 

“Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral.” He broke off with a grin. “That’s an Irish lullaby.” 

Mickey shook his head. “Yeah okay Bing Crosby. What did I tell you about singing?” 

Shep barked and then ran off, leaving them to their own devices. Mickey waved his hand. 

“See? Ya upset the mutt.” 

“I did not.” Ian hopped off the fence and bent to pick up the hammer and nails again. “Are you alright Mick? You had that look you get when you look at my leg.” 

Mickey swallowed the last of his food. “M’ fine Ian. Just trying to figure out how to tell them I was with Danny when he died.” 

He wouldn’t quite meet Ian’s eyes. Ian was a little relieved though. He had thought it was something with them. He squeezed Mickey’s knee and went back to hammering the board that wasn’t supposed to take half an hour to fix. 

“You did everything you could.” 

Mickey scoffed. “You weren’t even there!” 

“I know but you always did. Even all the way back in Normandy. If you couldn’t save him it wasn’t because you didn’t try.” 

He didn’t know why he had to remind Mickey of that fact. He’d been a good medic. Ian had tried to convince him to go back to school. He had no doubt if Mickey slugged it out he could be a surgeon. But Mickey wouldn’t hear about it. The brunette watched the horizon for a few minutes, thinking things over. Eventually he jumped down and worked with Ian. The afternoon went by fast, the first one in a while where they weren’t arguing with each other. They ended up staying out until sunset. Thunderheads were gathering on the horizon. Ian could even see lightning dancing across them. Mickey reached over and grabbed his hand reflexively. Neither of them were big fans of thunderstorms, Mickey even less so. But he didn’t look afraid. When Ian turned his head he found Mickey was watching him, face completely unguarded. He looked as happy as Ian felt. 

So Ian kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah slow chapter is slow. I actually did write a one-shot of the incident Ian is talking about though, at some point will put that up along with the reason the boys decided to get out of Chicago in the first place.


	3. Bottom of the River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay dear readers have we established some good will and trust and what not? You remembering your warm and fuzzy feelings? Cause the mature rating and the angst tag are coming into play now.

_If you get sleep or if you get none_  
 _(The cock’s gonna call in the morning, baby)_  
 _Check the cupboard for your daddy’s gun_  
 _(Red sun rises like an early warning)_  
 _The Lord’s gonna come for your first born son_  
 _(His hair’s on fire and his heart is burning)_  
 _Go to the river where the water runs_  
 _(Wash him deep where the tides are turning)_  
  
 _And if you fall...._  
 _And if you fall...._  
  
 _Hold my hand_  
 _Ooh, baby, it’s a long way down to the bottom of the river_  
 _Hold my hand,_  
 _Ooh, baby, it’s a long way down, a long way down_ \- Bottom of the River, Delta Rae

Daly Farmstead, Kansas. August 1, 1950

Mickey was pissed off as yet another sheep headbutted his leg. Ian laughed at him and then got a blow to the stomach. 

“Yeah that’s what you get.” 

Ian flipped him off. The farmhands laughed at both of them. Daly’s son, Dougal, wiped sweat of his brown and went to work shearing the sheep Mickey had finally gotten under control. He was an alright guy. He showed Ian and Mickey what to do and treated them fairly. Fucking Peter and Will were assholes but they could go fuck themselves as far as Mickey was concerned. They were making good money from this, and if it helped out the Dalys then that was just as well. 

“So Mick you never fired a single shot in the war?” Will’s voice.

Mickey shook his head. “Nah. Too busy chasing dumb asses like Gallagher here down when they got shot.” 

“Didn’t you feel useless though?” 

Peter and Will had been asking stupid fucking questions like that all day. Mickey knew he didn’t have a damned thing to be ashamed of, but it still rankled. It was Dougal who came to his defense. 

“See Pete I know you’ve got rocks for brains but Mick here had the hardest job in the fucking war. It was men like him who made sure the rest of us got home. Then again, you’d have to have _gone_ to war to know that.” 

That shut Pete and Will both up. Mickey released the now bald and pathetic looking sheep and grabbed another one, trying to be gentle. Ian decided to rub salt in the wounds. 

“Yeah besides saving my ass Mick saved about every man in the company in one way or another. Hell, he even got shot, had an easy ticket home, and then went AWOL from the hospital just to stay in it.” 

Ian gave Mickey a proud smile, and Mickey grinned back briefly before refocusing his attention. Mickey wondered what planet the Dalys really came from. He had never known anyone quite like them. He and Ian were both the least favorite sons of assholes who lived by the bottle. Then there was the fucking Dalys. They were so generous it hurt. Even losing Danny hadn’t broken them. He didn’t know what to make of it so he just kept working, ignoring Will and Peter. He and Ian still had to move on in the morning. 

“Yeah Doug when we landed in Normandy I got stuck in a fucking tree. Lost all my gear before I hit the ground.” 

Dougal chuckled. “Christ Normandy was such a shit storm. I remember we had this LT, maybe a week older than me. Hand to God he’d gotten out of OCS five minutes before they reassigned him to us. Anyways the shells start flying and what does this little shit do? Piss himself.” 

Mickey and Ian both snorted. Peter and Will pouted. _Good. Fucking dicks._  

“Yeah we’re still on the beach, everyone trapped, shouting. Body parts and guts everywhere you care to look. And he pisses himself. Then you know what? He stepped right the fuck up. Got everyone off the beach. Kept us alive. I mean we called him Leaky Louie the rest of the war but he had guts. Would even let us say it to his face.” 

Mickey wiped his brow, laughing with Ian. “What was his name?” 

“Charlie Smith.” 

They lost it then, scaring the handful of sheep that hadn’t been shorn yet. They finished up quickly, still swapping stories and ignoring the two morons. The sun was setting again, and Mickey could see Ron coming over the ridge to call them in for supper. Peter and Will got the last sheep and Mickey hopped out of the pen. He shed his gloves and popped his neck. It had been a lot of hard, hot work but he wasn’t complaining. He had decided to surprise Ian with a side trip in Colorado, and he was looking forward to it. He just had one more thing to do before they left after breakfast the next day. Wanted to tell Mrs. Daly that her son had died bravely. Once he worked out how to do it, he could leave Kansas behind. That night he fell asleep with Ian wrapped tightly around him, sore as hell and with the weight of Korea still hanging over his head, but everything was some sort of good anyways. 

~~

_He was walking the line, moving slowly through the forest, shoulders hunched against the cold. The only reason he knew they were still alive and not in hell where they belonged was because it was too damned cold. Then the shells started raining down again. He ran towards the foxholes, barely keeping ahead of the shells. He was knocked to his knees and he crawled forward, mostly using his elbows. It was Bull who pulled him into the hole, using his bulk to drag him through the snow and the dirt._

_Across the way he could see Mickey, face a mix of dark and light between the dirt and the flashing from artillery. Their eyes locked until the mortar stopped falling. Hot fear ripped through Ian, he needed to run. Just run away and not look back. Mickey gave a slight shake of his head and Ian fell back into the dirt wall of the hole. He closed his eyes against the forest, sucking in breath. Next to him Bull was silent, but Ian could hear him doing the same._

_When he opened his eyes Mickey was crawling into his hole, their knees knocking against one another’s. It may have been intentional, may not have been either. But it was what Ian needed to bring him down. Then the shells started again. He started like a rabbit; he was so raw. He was exposed and ragged. The urge to run was stronger than ever. Then a shell landed in their hole._

“Ow shonofabitch!” Ian was being hugged, shoved back into the bed. “Ian you need to calm the fuck down. You’re shafe.” 

He focused and realized the lights were on, people were staring at him, and Mickey was hugging him tight. He settled and buried his face in Mickey’s neck. He was burning up, heart racing from the fear coursing through his veins. 

“You’re okay Ian. Everything ish okay. We’re in fucking Kanshash but we’re okay.” Mickey rubbed his back gently. 

He heard soft whispers coming from the hall, Ron’s deep voice ushering everyone back to bed. Ian didn’t want to look up, hiding in Mickey’s arms. Then he felt the warm blood running down his back, realized Mickey was bleeding. He pushed away. Guilt hit him hard in the gut. How many nights had they done this now? Mickey losing sleep because Ian couldn’t handle his own shit. Now he’d probably broken the brunette’s nose. 

“Shit Mick I’m sorry.” 

“I’ve had worsh Gallagher. You alright if I go clean up?” 

Ian nodded, coming down from the adrenaline rush. Mickey squeezed his neck and went across the hall. Ian buried his face in his hands, the urge to hide overwhelming. Only offset but his urge to run. 

~~

Mickey sniffed, his nose smarting. _At least it ain't broke. Fucking Gallagher._  The blood dripped against the white sink. He watched it, feeling detached. He sniffed again and looked in the mirror. It was odd. He was only twenty-six but nights like tonight, he felt far too old for the unlined face that stared back at him. He shook his head and ran the water. A figure came in, leaning against the frame. A quick glance showed him it was Dougal. 

“You and Ian aren’t just old war buddies, are you? You’re together.” Mickey stiffened and Daly put up one hand. “Relax man. We don’t care. Wouldn’t flaunt it in front of my parents but they ain’t dumb. They’ll already know.” 

Mickey eyed him evenly and turned, leaning against the sink. “What’s it to you?” 

“Nothing. Really. Is that why you left Chicago though?” 

He really wasn’t in the mood to talk to this asshole. But he was tired enough where his mouth started moving without his say so. 

“Yes and no. Hell our neighborhood could barely stomach a white man marrying a black woman.” 

“What?!” Dougal’s flabbergasted face made Mickey arch his eyebrows. 

He folded his arms as well. “Yeah. Friends of ours actually. Took a lot of balls if you ask me.” 

“Shit yeah I’ll bet.” Dougal shook his head. “This happen a lot with Ian?” 

Mickey shrugged. “Often enough you’d think I’d learn to duck by now.” 

“He’s lucky to have you. I don’t know how to explain this to my gal ya know? I don’t know how my dad did it with my mom.” 

“My dad never did figure his shit out.” Mickey chewed his lip, trying to figure out how he’d gotten this deep into this conversation. “Not sure he ever came back.” 

“Yeah I’m never sure I did either.” 

Mickey didn’t know what to say to that. Truth was he wasn’t sure Ian had either. Not all of the way. Dougal sighed. 

“I better get back to bed. You oughta as well Mick.” 

Mickey watched the man go, a little dazed. He gave up and wet a couple of wash cloths, carrying them back to the room and turning off the light. Ian had lay back down, turned so he was facing the window. Mickey put one cloth on his neck, using the other to clean off his blood from Ian’s back. They didn’t talk about what Ian had dreamed about. Unlike Mickey, Ian’s dreams were always perfect memories. He had them less and less as the years went by, but when he did it was always one of three. Mickey let his eyes flick down to Ian’s leg. They had matching scars there, but Mickey had gotten off a lot easier. He bit his lip again and lay down, planting a kiss on the scar Ian had gotten from shrapnel back in Holland. Ian rolled over, reaching out to cup Mickey’s face like he wasn’t sure Mickey was real. 

Mickey didn’t say anything, just lay his hand over Ian’s. He planted a kiss on Ian’s palm and the ginger smiled fleetingly. It hurt, to see him so drained. Mickey wished he could take it away. Or that he had the dreams instead of Ian. That he had the tremors, the shrapnel floating around in his system, that he was the one who carried that weight. Ian could be right next to him and unreachable, withdrawn until memories of Bastogne released their hold on him. Mickey had never felt more helpless than on nights like tonight, because at least when Ian was hurt Mickey could do something about it. But he didn’t know what to do for Ian’s head or soul. They shifted eventually, Ian rolling onto his back. Mickey fell asleep unwillingly, hand clutching Ian’s arm. Maybe he could keep from losing him that way. 

~~

As much shit as he had been through in his young life, Ian had never been woken up with the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed to his forehead before. Even still, he was less surprised then he should be. Angry, yes. Surprised, not so much. Peter jerked his head. 

“On your feet you fairy fuck.” 

Ian looked over to see Will had Mickey on his feet, hands tied behind his back and pistol planted firmly on his temple. He was watching Ian, stark terror in his eyes. If he had to guess, they had threatened him with Ian to get him up quietly. Ian was seeing red. _Last stupid thing you’ll ever fucking do Peter._ He got out of bed slowly, putting his hands up. Peter tied Ian’s hands behind his back. His breath was hot on Ian’s ear as he shoved the gun into his back and marched him downstairs. The house was asleep, silent as a tomb. He and Mickey were on their own. Situation normal, all fucked up. He had never been so full of rage in his life. They took them out into the yard and forced him and Mickey on their knees together side by side. 

“Fucking queers. Bet your mama wishes you’d never been born. Can’t believe they even let you into the Army.” 

Ian growled. “At least we _were_ in the Army you fucking pussies. You should try killing a man who can actually shoot back.” 

That got him pistol whipped across the face. Mickey let out an angry noise next to him and rose. Will kicked him the jaw and Ian cried out. Will didn’t stop kicking Mickey and all Ian could think about was getting to him. He headbutt Peter in the gut and rose to his feet. A shot rang out and Ian and Mickey froze, and he was sure Mickey had been shot for a second. Peter spoke up. 

“Next one goes in your head.” 

Ian didn’t look around as Will put a knee into Mickey’s back, shoving his pistol into Mickey’s skull. Ian was unhinged. Mickey spat. 

“Just fucking do it already you piece of shit!” 

Will hit him and it took all of Ian’s willpower to hold still. For some reason, Peter untied Ian. 

“I’ll give you a ten second head start. Then your boyfriend here gets to watch you die running like the fucking faggot you are.” 

Will started to get to his feet, keeping the gun trained on Mickey. They exchanged a glance and Ian knew exactly what he had to do. He threw himyself into Will, shoving him to the ground, and covered Mickey's body with his own as the shots rang out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.


	4. After the Storm

_And after the storm,_  
 _I run and run as the rains come_  
 _And I look up, I look up,_  
 _on my knees and out of luck,_  
 _I look up._  
  
 _Night has always pushed up day_  
 _You must know life to see decay_  
 _But I won't rot, I won't rot_  
 _Not this mind and not this heart,_  
 _I won't rot._  
  
 _And I took you by the hand_  
 _And we stood tall,_  
 _And remembered our own land,_  
 _What we lived for._  
  
 _And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears._  
 _And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears._  
 _Get over your hill and see what you find there,_  
 _With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair_. \- After the Storm, Mumford and Sons.

Daly Farmstead, August 2, 1950

All Mickey felt was Ian’s body crushing his, then stiffening as he cried out in pain. But he wasn’t the only one. Mickey heard shouting and barking, but he was more concerned with the man above him running his fingers over his face. 

“Mick?” 

Mickey could see Ian was white as a sheet. He could feel Ian’s heart, beating a tattoo against his own chest. Erratic, but still beating. 

“Where ya hit?” 

Before Ian answered he looked up, eyes widening. Mickey followed his gaze, finding Peter had dropped his gun and had his hands up. They turned their heads the other way to find Doug and Ron, each with a gun in hand and trained on Will and Peter. Someone had shot Will in the ass. 

“The two of you have until the count of ten to get off my land.” 

Mickey thought he was talking to him and Ian. He wasn’t. 

“But Ron they’re a couple of-”

“They are guests in my home and you just tried to execute them. One.” 

He emphasized the start of the count by cocking the gun. Peter grabbed Will and helped him run off. Shep, who Mickey hadn’t seen until then, chased them off, snarling. Mickey turned his head back to Ian, feeling him start to shake. 

“Ian?” 

The ginger rolled off of him, writhing. Small wonder with the bullet in his fucking back. 

“Ian!” 

Mickey struggled to his knees. Ron went to Ian and Mickey felt someone behind him, cutting through the twine around his wrists. The second he was free he went to Ian, who was bleeding heavily. It was the shock Mickey was worried about though. 

“Ian-Ian look at me.” Mickey put one hand over the bullet hole, one on Ian’s face. “Hey stay with me alright?” 

Ian moaned and Mickey pressed harder to the wound. The ginger shot him an angry look that sent a small shot of relief through Mickey. 

“Fucking a why are you poking it?!” 

Mickey grinned. “Just checking to make sure it hurts.”

“I got shot asshole of course it hurts.”  

A hand grabbed his shoulder and Mickey started. He’d forgotten where they were and who they were with entirely. 

“What do you need from us son?” 

“We need to get him back inside house so I can treat him.” Mickey chewed his lip. “If…if that’s alright.” 

Ron clapped his shoulder. The three of them carried Ian inside, where Mrs. Daly was waiting. 

“Give me a second I’ll put a sheet over the sofa.” 

She did and they got Ian onto it. Mickey kept his hand over Ian’s wound. 

“I have an aid kit in my stuff Mrs. Daly…” She nodded and went upstairs. “Doug can you get him a blanket and get his feet up?” 

Ian was still shaking. Conscious, but clammy and far too white. Mickey stroked his hair. 

“Have I ever told you what a fucking idiot you are?” 

Ian choked out a laugh, wrenching Mickey’s heart. “What was I supposed to do? Run?” 

“Yes chucklehead. Don’t ever fucking take a bullet for me again, ya hear?” 

“Well if I’d known how grateful you were gonna be-” He shuddered again. 

Mrs. Daly handed Mickey the aid kit and he went to work, murmuring to Ian as he got the syrette ready. He didn’t even know what he was saying as he injected the ginger, only trying to keep him alert. Ian finally stilled under his hand, eyelids fluttering. 

“There, feels good right?” Ian nodded and Mickey smiled again, taking Ian’s pulse. “Yeah I’ll bet. Alright I’m going to get that bullet out of you and patch you up, then you can sleep. Then when you wake up I’m going to kill you.” 

“Mmm. Okay.” 

Mickey chewed his lip and then kissed Ian’s cheek. “I got you Ian.” 

Ian made a noise in his throat Mickey took as positive. Sniffing he went to work, his hands knowing exactly what to do even after all this time. He did his job quickly, relieved when he was finally able to put a bandage over Ian’s stitches. Then he cleaned and treated the gash on Ian’s forehead. It wasn’t until he was done he looked back at the Dalys. Only they were in the kitchen, talking in hushed voices. Ron was clearly livid, barely able to contain himself. Mickey had zero urge to go into the kitchen and face them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how much trouble he and Ian were in. Then he looked down at himself and found he was in his underwear, and covered in blood. He was sore from head to toe, having his own gash on his ribs as well. Mrs. Daly came into the living room, smiling gently. 

“Go get washed up Mickey.” 

He shook his head. “Me and Ian gotta go.” 

“What? Why would you do that? Ian needs to stay and heal.” 

“We can’t. Not if-”

Mickey realized he wasn’t quite sure what he was afraid of exactly. The cops or the mob he was sure was on it’s way. Mrs. Daly only smiled gently. 

“Mickey we invited you into our home and then Ian got shot for it. I know why, and frankly I don’t give a damn.” 

_These people can’t be real._ “But-”

“No buts. Get upstairs and bathe. I’ll watch over Ian.” 

Mickey nodded, overwhelmed. He took one last look at Ian, now sleeping peacefully, and went upstairs. It was only in the shower, heat as high as he could stand it, that he started crying. 

~~

Ian’s least favorite part of the hospital in England had been people praying over him. He didn’t take issue with people praying in general, but with pneumonia on top of his bullet wounds he had always felt like they were praying over him because they thought he was going to die. So when he came to, listening to the soft cadence of St. Francis’ prayer, he didn’t quite remember where he was. He didn’t open his eyes, as badly as he wanted to tell whoever was praying to knock it off. 

“O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek, to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.” 

Then he remembered something was really, really wrong, eyes snapping open. “Mickey!” 

“He’s alright Ian, he’ll be back in in a minute.” 

He turned his head, struggling to rise. Mrs. Daly put her hands firmly but gently on his back. 

“Easy there dear. Everything is alright I promise.” 

“Where’s Mickey?” 

He eased back down and Mrs. Daly released him, hovering. “Outside with Ron, talking to the sheriff.” 

Ian tried to rise again, knowing the morphine had worn off because his whole body hurt. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. His head was pounding and his stomach rolled. But he had to get Mickey away from any kind of cop. Mrs. Daly sighed and pushed him back down. 

“Ian you’re gonna reopen your stitches.” 

“If they’re arresting him…” 

She clucked her tongue. “They’re not. You two might be strangers around here but we’re not. Let Mr. Daly handle it and you focus on getting better.” 

Ian grunted and gave up. He was fucking exhausted. He didn’t go back to sleep though, waiting tensely for Mickey to come back inside. Ron, Doug, and Mickey all came back in, the brunette making a beeline for Ian. Mickey ran a hand over Ian’s back, face guarded. Ron and Doug were arguing. 

“Just let me go pay them a visit. Trust me Peter will quit running his stupid fucking mouth.” 

“Dougal you will respect the letter of the law while you are under my roof.” 

Mrs. Daly got to her feet to join the shouting in the kitchen. “And watch your language.” 

“Sorry Ma but this is bullshit and you know it. I’m calling Denny.” 

“You are not dragging your brother down here.” Ron sounded uncertain though. 

Mickey just stared into Ian’s eyes, and Ian into Mickey’s. Finally, Mickey broke the silence. 

“How’re ya feeling?” 

Ian snorted. “Like shit. You?” 

“Like shit on toast.” He grinned though. 

“Tasty.” 

Mickey bent forward and kissed Ian’s lips. He was surprised but let his eyes close, relieved for a moment. 

“Mick what’s going on?” 

Mickey sighed and thumbed his lip, sitting back in the armchair. “Nothing. The fucking sheriff just wants to sweep it all under the rug. Squinty-eyed little pecker that one.” 

Ian chuckled even though it kinda hurt and Mickey grinned. 

“Yeah we’re staying until you rest up a bit. After that he would like us to get out of his county.” 

“I’m sorry Mickey. You’re only in this shit because of me.” 

Mickey bit his lip. “Don’t start with that. We’re in this together. Right?” 

He looked worried, unsure. Like Ian could ever have a different answer. 

“Of course we are.” 

He could practically feel the relief emanating off of Mickey. Ian took a long look at him, the shadows under his eyes, the busted up nose, the fear in his eyes. He wondered if love was supposed to make him feel this guilty all of the time. But if there had ever been a time he could walk away from Mickey Milkovich, it was a years past. He wasn’t that strong, or that good of a person. 

“You should get some shut-eye Mick. I can keep watch for a bit.” 

“Both of ya should head back up to bed.” Ron surprised them both. “Do you need help up Ian?” 

Ian shook his head, dazed. “No sir. I don’t think so.” 

“Just get a shout out to Doug if you do. I’m goin’ out for a bit.” 

Mickey wrapped the arm of Ian’s uninjured side around his shoulder, wincing in his own movements, and they haphazardly climbed the stairs together. By the time Mickey got him to the bed they were both sweaty and panting. Once Ian was settled Mickey sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. 

“We’re fucking pathetic.” 

“But we’re pathetic together.” 

Mickey turned, glaring at him. “Fuck off Gallagher.” 

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” 

The brunette snorted, unbuttoning his shirt. When he peeled it off Ian had to stifle his shock. Will had managed to do a lot of damage in a short amount of time. Mickey was covered in dark bruises, the worst of the damage being to his rib cage, a rash of split skin covering his side. His back and stomach were bruised as well. Ian felt his exhaustion burn up in anger instead. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

Mickey just looked down at him, eyebrows arched in his amusement. “Oh yeah tough guy? How’re you gonna get back down the stairs?” 

“It’s not funny Mick.” 

Mickey winced, laying back. He’d lain Ian down on his stomach. Ian ghosted his finger over Mickey’s ribs, probing the damage gently.  

“Loving me is gonna get you killed.” He whispered the words. 

Mickey groaned, lacing his fingers through Ian. “Loving you is what’s kept me alive.”

He brought their joined hands up to his lips, brushing them over Ian’s knuckles. Then he threw his free arm over his eyes. 

“Besides, you’re the asshole that just took a bullet for me.” 

“Well if I’m gonna keep gettin’ shot I need someone around who can patch me up after.” 

Mickey snorted and then groaned again, wincing. “Oh fuck me.” 

“Can’t just took a bullet for you.” 

That had them both laughing again. Which quickly led to muffled grunts and cursing on both of their parts. Then Ian saw Mickey was tearing up and he sat up, kissing the brunette gently despite how much it hurt. 

~~

Mickey woke up hot and sore, sunlight filling the room. He jerked his head, panicked for a second until he saw Ian sleeping soundly next to him. He reached for his watch, surprised it was past noon. He got up, barely able to stifle the grunt of pain as every muscle in his body protested the movement. He checked Ian’s wounds over, changing the bandage on his shoulder, and limped through the process of getting dressed. Mickey knew Ian well enough to leave him in bed. The ginger was a shitty patient, unable to keep still unless he was drying. Which, he wasn’t by some fucking miracle. So Mickey let him be, going downstairs. It was disconcerting when he walked into the kitchen and no one was downstairs. There was a covered plate on the table with a note that read _Mickey and Ian, here’s lunch, gone to church._ He just stared at it and shook his head. He went out to the porch to smoke and found Dougal Daly and Shep sitting on the stoop. 

Dougal turned his head while Shep just barked. “Lookin good Mick.” 

“Yeah yeah. Bite me.” Mickey sat on the other side of Shep, lighting a cigarette. “You people are un-fucking-believable, you know that?” 

He ran a hand through Shep’s fur, rubbing her belly when she rolled over. Dougal snorted, shaking his head. 

“Yeah I grew up with them. Got another one of those?” 

Mickey handed him one and lit it. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, thank Shep. She was the one that got me up.” 

Shep barked for emphasis and Mickey snorted. “That right you crazy mutt?” 

She shoved her head into Mickey’s lap and he rolled his eyes, scratching her ears. _Good fucking dog._ They smoked in silence for a minute and then Mickey had to ask. 

“Why are you helping us?” 

Dougal laughed at him. “Anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” 

“Not in my neighborhood. Why the fuck would a horse bring you gifts anyways?”  

“Look Mick all I know is, all my ma and pa know is, you’re two guys who need our help. There gotta be more to it than that?” 

Mickey worried his bottom lip. “There’s something I gotta tell you, about Danny.” 

Dougal tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “My brother? What about him?” 

“I was with him…at the end. In Normandy.” 

“Shit.” Dougal clearly had tears in his eyes, and Mickey stared at Shep’s head. “I-sorry man.” 

“The fuck you apologizing to me for?” 

The older man gave a strained chuckle. “I don’t know. Was he…I mean…” 

“He was brave. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.” 

It was only then Mickey risked looking at Dougal. He and Danny had the same eyes even, the brown of their mother. It was disconcerting. Dougal clapped him on the shoulder and Mickey winced. 

“Shit sorry. Just, thanks for telling me. Fuck I miss that kid every day.” 

Mickey nodded. He knew how that felt. They sat in silence for a while, Mickey hungry but too lazy and sore to want to move. 

“What are you two gonna do now?” 

Mickey snorted at the question. “Fuck if I know man.” 

That got Mickey up though. Someone had to call Fiona. Shep just scooted over to Dougal for attention and Mickey shook his head. The dog really did remind him of Ian. He groaned and went inside, dreading the coming conversation. _Fuck the woman only weighs a buck when wet you can handle her._ He dialed the number out, each ring making him more agitated. Finally, she picked up. 

“Hey Fiona. It’s Mickey.” 

“Shit what happened to Ian?” 

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Fucking Gallaghers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really don't have much to say on this one. Except yep, I'm still a sap.


	5. All My Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here BenjiTyler this is my peace offering.

_Now I see clearly_  
 _It's you I'm looking for_  
 _All of my days_  
 _Soon I'll smile_  
 _I know I'll feel this loneliness no more_  
 _All of my days_  
 _For I look around me_  
 _And it seems you've found me_  
 _And it's coming into sight_  
 _As the days keep turning into night_ \- All My Days, Alexi Murdoch

August 9, 1950. Daly Farmstead, Kansas

Ian knew without looking Mickey was up. Also knew what he was doing.  

“Mick stop watching me sleep.” 

He could feel the bed shift slightly. “I’m not.” 

“Yeah you are. You have been all week. Stop it.” 

“I said I ain’t watching you sleep Gallagher.” 

Ian felt him start to rise and reached out automatically to grab his arm, again without opening his eyes. Mickey tensed for a moment and stilled under his hand, and Ian knew he was biting his lip. He sighed and opened his eyes. Mickey was watching him, the look on his face making Ian’s chest ache. Like he was afraid Ian would disappear on him. It had been like that the first year or two they had been back. Ian had been even more of a head case than he was now, self-medicating his demons with alcohol and lashing out when he wasn’t running away. He’d done everything to shove Mickey away, and Mickey always forgave him. But he would watch Ian with the same look on his face as he had now, terrified Ian would disappear on him though he never said out loud. 

Boy did Ian hate that look. He tugged on Mickey’s arm. 

“C’mere.” 

Mickey lay back on the bed, eyes never leaving Ian’s face. He pressed his hand to the scar on Ian’s stomach, covering it with his hand. Ian knew no matter how many times he said otherwise, Mickey still blamed himself. Blamed himself for the shell shock and the bullets Ian had taken, never once realizing he was the only thing that had kept Ian together both through the war and after. Had literally saved his life in Austria. Had been his home ever since. 

“Mickey I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

The brunette tried to turn his head but gripped his chin, running his thumb lightly over Mickey’s lip. 

“You can’t keep it.” 

Mickey just blurted it out, looking embarrassed. Ian released his chin, raising his eyebrows. But apparently Mickey wasn’t done. 

“I can’t protect you. It’s my job to take care of you and I can’t.” 

He did turn his head then, refusing to meet Ian’s eyes. Ian groaned and sat up, even with a wounded shoulder able to yank Mickey back into his arms, ignoring the yellow and green bruises that covered his body. The brunette was sufficiently angry as Ian smothered him, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s chest and his legs around the shorter man’s. 

“Get off of me! God you’re worse than that fucking dog.” 

“Make me.” 

Mickey growled, struggling. Or trying to get closer, Ian didn’t think even Mickey knew which. Ian planted a kiss on Mickey’s temple. 

“Mick you gotta let me take care of you to. The door swings both ways on this one.” Mickey grunted, which Ian took as a sign. “You’re right, you can’t protect me from everything. But as you love reminding me, I’m a grown man. All I can promise you is I’ll do anything in my power to stay with you.” 

Some of the tension went of Mickey then and he leaned into Ian’s chest. “I love you.” 

He whispered the words and Ian almost melted around him. He planted another kiss under Mickey’s ear. 

“I know.” 

Mickey immediately went tense again. “Say it back asshole.” 

“Mmm.” Ian just kept kissing Mickey’s neck, the man going even more rigid in his arms. “I love that you’re as cuddly as a cactus.” 

“Dick.”

Ian chuckled and kissed him again. “I love that it that you sing when no one’s around.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I love that you say my name in your sleep.” 

Mickey scoffed, arching his neck under Ian’s ministrations. “No I fucking don’t.” 

Ian chuckled and squeezed him hard before pushing him back in the bed. He pinned Mickey’s hands and looked in his eyes. Mickey stared back at him, almost defiant. Ian grinned. 

“I love you too Mick.” 

Ian swallowed whatever reply Mickey had with another kiss. 

~~

Mickey finished loading everything in the truck, taking one last look at the farmstead. He was surprised by how much he didn’t want to leave, despite everything that had happened. Dougal shook his head. 

“Man wish you guys were staying. Now I gotta go back to eating all of Ma’s food by my lonesome.” 

He patted his stomach and Mickey snorted. He scratched his temple and then held out his hand to Dougal. The man took it with a grin, before promptly yanking Mickey into a bear hug. 

“What is it with you people and hugging me?!” 

Ron and Diane had already done this to him about half a dozen times since yesterday. It was unnatural. Dougal laughed and then released him. 

“You Chicago boys are something else.” 

Mickey glared at him and Dougal just clapped him on the back. “Do they put something in the water out here?” 

“It’s called sunshine and Jesus Mick. Where’s your man I wanna say good-bye to him too.” 

“Yeah yeah just keep it friendly Doug.” 

The taller man grinned broadly. “Hey maybe if he falls in love with me we can convince y’all to stay.” 

Mickey just gawked at him and the moron’s smile only broadened. He started striding back to the house with a wave of his hand. 

“Come on Mick I’m just fucking with you. I’m not into redheads.” 

_God save me from this idiot._ He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Doug back to the porch, where Ron and Diane emerged, Ron’s arm lovingly resting on his wife’s shoulders. Her eyes were watery and she was clearly trying not to cry. _Oh no. Not more waterworks. Fuck I’m never gonna get out of here._ She immediately pulled Mickey into another hug and he couldn’t help but squeeze it. He would never, ever fucking admit it, but he was going to miss her the most. Ron didn’t make the pretense of shaking his hand like Doug had, and damned if Mickey could be a pissant about it after everything he had done for them. 

“You boys ever come through here again you have a place to stay and work. Least we can do.” 

Ian was so much better at this shit than he was. Mickey nodded, thinking he owed the Daly’s far more than what they had been able to give. He never did like owing people. Diane brushed imaginary dirt off Mickey’s shoulder, running her hands over his arms. He couldn’t help but smile. 

“Hey we promised to write.” 

Ian came bouncing out of the house then. “We’ll write _and_ call Mrs. Daly.”

Mickey was relieved when the Daly’s turned their attention on him. Shep had followed Ian out of the house, and he went to her, kneeling as he ran his hands through her long fur. 

“You ain’t so bad for a mangy mutt, ya know that?” 

She licked his face repeatedly. Not an ounce of dignity in the dog’s entire body. Mickey chuckled, scratching behind her ears and fluffing her fur out. It took him a minute to realize everyone was silent behind him. He looked over his shoulder, finding them looking amused, or in Ian and Dougal’s case, wearing matching shit-eating grins. Mickey pointedly turned his back and patted Shep one last time on the head. He straightened, shoving his hands back in his pockets and looked pointedly at Ian. 

 “You ready to go chucklehead?” 

Ian grinned. “If you think you can leave your one true love behind.” 

Mickey knew he had matured quite a bit since meeting the redhead, because he didn’t flip Ian off. That it was a near-miss wasn’t so important. He just strode forward, tossing the keys to Ian and walking past, not looking to see if he had caught them. 

“I swear to god if you break her again…” 

After a moment he felt a muscle-bound arm wrap around his shoulders. “I can’t be held responsible for your rust bucket breaking doll.” 

“Gallagher I will make you walk to California.” 

“For insulting the truck or for calling you doll?” 

Mickey growled and held the door open for Ian. “Pick one asshole.” 

He slammed the door on Ian’s laughing face and walked around. He waved to the Dalys one last time before climbing in himself. Ian reached over and kissed his cheek before putting the truck into gear, pulling out to fast. Mickey sighed and closed his eyes. 

It was going to be a long drive. 

~~

Mickey had dozed off, and Ian was bored. So when they came up on the state line he grinned, slapping Mickey’s arm. The brunette came to like usually did, with a jerk and a suspicious glance around. 

“The fuck Gallagher?” 

Ian was grinning from ear to ear. “We’ve crossed the state line. We’re in Colorado.” 

“That’s fucking great. Can I go back to sleep now?” 

“I just wanted to tell you something.” 

Mickey groaned, closing his eyes. “Then spit it out already.” 

“Well, Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” 

The brunette opened on blue eye, looking torn between socking Ian or kissing him. 

“You’ve been waiting to say that since Missouri, haven’t you?” Ian nodded and Mickey sighed and closed his eye. “I ain’t the Toto to your Dorthy.” 

“No? Then what are you?” 

Mickey snorted. “I’m the goddamned wizard. Now shut your yap and keep your eyes on the road.” 

“You got it Mick.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks for the support and feedback from everyone who read this. Don't worry I'm nowhere near tapped out on this universe, just changing gears for a bit. If you want to send me more prompts for this universe or yell at me about Mickey Dies at the End here's my tumblr. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/noplaceforthehero Oh and I have some one-shots for this verse saved up for a rainy day.


End file.
